


Shell-shocked

by DivineMissP



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 09:33:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5823481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DivineMissP/pseuds/DivineMissP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not all right things for right reasons are right - Jack makes a choice he comes to regret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a story that I originally posted on FF, beginning way back in December 2014, long before Series 3 was even given the go-ahead, let alone filmed. Hence you'll either need to get yourself into a post-Series-2 space, or just imagine AU. Although I published Chapters 1 through 5 on FF way back then, Chapters 6 through 8 have lingered on my hard drive ever since as I simply haven't had the time to tweak them until today - at this point I'm not sure if my FF followers want to hug me or hate on me for leaving them in the lurch for so long... So, here is the entire story for AO3, and I have included everything, including Summary, exactly as it was posted on FF (except for the irrelevant notes of the time). Hope you enjoy :)

He was standing in the window of the upstairs parlour, unseeingly watching the world go by on the rain-streaked street below.

He rubbed his face as if he was trying to wake up, but he had not been asleep, and this was no dream. He knew, from experience, what shell-shock was like, and for him, this was a return to the state of mind that accompanied the physical symptoms. He wasn't really seeing anything around him, wasn't really hearing the drum of rain on the iron roof, or the crackle of the fire behind him, nor feeling its heat.

He felt… numb… disoriented… bone-tired... A dull pain radiated through him, but it had not been caused by any injury or sickness, just his own feeling that perhaps, this time, doing the right thing had been the wrong thing.

He couldn't believe that it had only been a little over three weeks ago that this had all started.

It had been just another day at the station, when Collins had knocked and informed him that a gentleman and a lady from the Welfare Department were here to see him. He had vaguely wondered whether he ought to know why they were there, but it was hardly unusual; as a police officer he frequently had cause to liaise with Welfare over children who were suspects, the children of suspects, the children of murder victims, and homeless children found dead.

In fact, they had come to interview him about Jane.

It had surprised him, but the questions had started innocuously enough.

He had originally recommended that Jane Ross be placed with Miss Fisher – to the best of his knowledge was she happy? Well looked after? Doing well at school? 

Of course he had answered in the affirmative to those questions, and more, however things had soon taken a more personal bent. He spent a lot of time at Miss Fisher residence? Why? Did she interact with other police officers in this way? They had heard that there might be something more than a professional relationship between himself and Miss Fisher – what did he have to say about that? What did he know of her involvement with other gentlemen?

He had dismissed his two interrogators feeling angry and out-of-sorts. What the hell was going on? Why were they asking these questions?

He had telephoned Phryne's house, and Mr Butler had advised him that Miss Fisher was currently unable to take his call. When Jack had said that he would come to the house, Mr Butler had not told him not to, which had been telling.

He had arrived to find Phryne and Dot clutching hands and sobbing openly in the parlour, and as neither was in a fit state to explain to him, it was left to Mr B to fill him in.

It seemed that someone had gone to Welfare with allegations about Miss Fisher's own unconventional lifestyle, and also the people she associated with. The Department had acted in great haste, and only today the two Officers had been to Jane's school and interviewed her without anyone else present, spoken to her teachers, and her friends. They had ambushed Mrs Stanley during morning tea with friends, and had presented themselves to the unsuspecting Miss Fisher, before their visit to the Inspector.

Who knew where else they had been, and what had been said to them, but they had made it quite clear that they believed that the girl was in moral danger, and that Miss Fisher was unfit to care for her. They had told her that a final decision would not be made until they had all the facts, but at this stage it seemed most likely that Jane would be removed.

Jack had turned at Phryne's plaintive cry of grief. The only time he had seen her in such a state had been as he had stood behind her as she knelt over the muddy fragments what had once been her sister. In fact, this was worse. Jane was a living, breathing girl who was going to be torn from the woman who had come to love her as a daughter, and who protected her as fiercely as a lioness would her cub.

She had been inconsolable that afternoon, but he had sat beside the two women and tried valiantly to hold back his own tears in the face of such sorrow. He had put an arm around Phryne's shoulder and promised her that he would do anything in his power to see that Jane remained where she belonged.

The next day he had returned, and found her angry, hurting, and desperately sad.

Aunt P had been on the warpath, but it seemed that even her intervention would not improve the outcome.

Phryne had answered the Welfare Officers' questions truthfully the previous day, before she had really become aware of their intentions; if she had known from the start she would have lied. She had given Jack a sad laugh; the only thing that she had been able to deny was that she and he were having 'unmarried relations'.

Any day now Welfare were going to take Jane away from her, because she was a single woman and they could see no reason why she would not continue to lead an immoral lifestyle. Never mind that without her Jane would probably be out on the street again, dirty, unfed, uneducated, and at *real* danger of abuse, of more than one sort.

She had snorted. They had actually suggested that making a donation to charity might make her feel better. As if she meant nothing more to Jane than a meal ticket. As if Jane were just her philanthropic project.

The next day Jack had taken himself to the Welfare Department, and had argued until he was blue in the face. Then he had presented them with an idea that had occurred to him right there in that building, as he had butted his head against their walls of bureaucratic hypocrisy.

He had made his way to Phryne's door that night with a proposal – quite literally.

"Marry me."

"… Pardon?..."

He had explained the discussions that he had had with the Department, and what they had tentatively agreed to consider.

She had been absolutely incredulous.

He had agreed with her that it was ridiculous that the Welfare Officers believed that the moral danger they saw in Phryne could be magically conjured away by her marrying; but he would take it. Without future proof of adultery, it could only be assumed by the Department, and in turn those who had made the complaints, that she would be living a 'normal' lifestyle. As the male, her husband would become Jane's primary legal guardian, and they felt that the discipline that a man would bring to Jane's life would be to her advantage. Furthermore, Phryne's unusual friendships could be disregarded on the understanding that a husband would hold much more influence over her.

If it were Jack, they would even overlook the fact that he had been divorced, as long as he could provide the court documents that showed that it had been amicable – and that he wasn't a wife-beating alcoholic adulterer. Jack had given Phryne a wry smile, and she had not been able to help smiling back.

Of course, he had explained to her, it didn't have to be him; but the advantage to it being him would be that she wouldn't have to change.

She had looked at him quizzically.

He wasn't exactly sure how it might work, but apart from the fact that they would be legally bound, he would not presume to consider her beholden to him in any way. He might need to stay with her for a while, in order to present a nice domesticated picture, but he would not interfere in her life, and (he hated himself for saying it), although she would have to be *very* careful, he would not stand in the way of her finding 'companionship' elsewhere.

He had almost been able to see the cogs turning in her head as she had considered his offer, and for the first time had seen a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

If she decided that this is what she wanted to do, then the Department would hold off on taking Jane away, but the matter would have to be resolved fairly quickly; a decision would have to be made and action would need to be taken as soon as possible.

"I think that they might give you a day or two leeway before they come for her, but if you think that this is something that you want to do, they should probably be notified as soon as possible."

She had asked him whether it was really something that *he* wanted to do, and he had assured her that he had given it a lot of thought. He hadn't lied when he said that he would do anything to help, and he couldn't bear to see Jane removed from Phryne, who had taken her in, against his own advice, and loved her unconditionally.

It was all that he could do to ensure she remained where she was safe and cared for.

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

Jack had left Phryne that night to think over his offer and all its implications, and to *really* think them over for himself. He would not renege now, but he needed to be as sure as he could be of the turn his life might take.

He could well imagine himself twice-divorced by the age of forty-five. How could it be any other way? Whether it was when Jane came of age and was free of the shadow of 'the Welfare', or when she flew the nest, he supposed that it would be inevitable that Phryne would wish to break free and move on from him.

In the meantime, it would be difficult for him to see her with other men, so close to her and yet so far, but it was something that he *could* do for her, and for Jane. They would not have to live together always, and there was nothing to stop Phryne and Jane travelling without him. And if he were legally Jane's male guardian, then he would make every effort to be a father to her, just as Phryne was a mother to her.

All night his thoughts had turned, and he had then spent a restless day at the station, delegating more than was his usual style, and trying, unsuccessfully, to conquer a pile of paperwork that was threatening to overwhelm his desk.

She had appeared in his office at a little after eight o'clock that night, and had taken a seat opposite him, without removing her hat or coat.

He had cleared his throat, nervously. "You've given it some thought?"

A nod. "I have…"

She had seemed to be struggling, and her eyes had been suspiciously moist.

"This morning… I was asked to 'temporarily' remove Jane from school… because some parents have threatened to remove their girls if Jane remained… They don't want their children to associate with Jane… because of her association with me…"

She had looked at him sadly, her voice almost a whisper, "She's come to really like it there…" She had seemed to gulp down a sob, before she put her hand up and slid something across the desk to where his was waiting.

"What is it?"

Who was he kidding? He knew exactly what it was – he opened the small box to reveal the plain band nestled on the velvet within. He was neither a jeweller, nor wealthy enough, to distinguish the material. Silver? Platinum? Whatever it was, he had seen enough jewellery in the course of his career to know that, despite its simplicity, it had surely cost a pretty penny.

She had looked him squarely in the eye. "I expect you ought to hold onto that for me…"

He had nodded, and let out the breath he had been holding.

"Perhaps we ought… I…" she had rolled her eyes at her own inability to form a sentence. "Would you like to have some supper with me?"

And that had been that.

She had taken him to Café Repliqué and requested a table a little separated from everyone else, and they had discussed the practicalities over supper. She had been a little emotional that night, as she had tried to tell him, several times, how much it meant to her, how she couldn't possibly explain to him how much it meant to her, and she would ensure that he didn't regret what he had done.

The next day they had gone to the Welfare Department, where she had given her solemn undertaking that she was prepared to do whatever it took; that she would marry Jack and live a moral life with him, and that together they would continue to raise Jane in a safe and nurturing environment.

It angered Jack that these people had judged her so unfairly, when there were so many children out there in terrible situations, both in and out of private care. Nonetheless he managed to hold his tongue as they chastised her like a child for her bad behaviour, and asserted that the proof would be in the pudding as far as her future promises were concerned. However, if arrangements were to be made soon, then they were willing to give her the benefit of the doubt and leave Jane with her for the time being, albeit with regular 'inspections'.

Due to his workload, they had planned that he would apply for a licence in a further two days, and marry at some time within the coming few weeks; but on that morning he had been surprised to have her waltz into his office and toss down her handbag. "Do you mind very much if we marry in church?"

His eyebrows had raised involuntarily. "I… don't have any particular objection… although 'church' might, as they generally don't believe in ex-husbands-and-wives…"

"Well, Aunt P has already managed to 'persuade' a priest to overrule said objections and bend the rules a little – don't ask – and if we have our little 'interview' tomorrow evening, after the minimum period for the posting of the banns they could probably fit us in on the third Saturday from now… So… do *you* have any objections?"

He had pondered for a moment. He wasn't sure how much of any of that he believed in any more, and Phryne was not particularly devout… but he had had no reason to say no, so he hadn't. "I suppose it will look better… to Welfare… to have a religious ceremony?"

"Aunt P seems to think so… It certainly won't hurt the cause…"

After that, so many things had happened in such quick succession that he wondered at how it had all been accomplished; but then he had supposed that although money couldn't buy happiness, it could buy an awful lot of goods and services at short notice.

They had been interviewed by the priest (with Mrs Stanley present), had Jack measured and then fitted for a new suit, and had new stationery commissioned. He had requested and been granted leave for the day in question. They had discussed and agreed upon his moving into 221b, Phryne had quizzed him thoroughly on what arrangements she would need to make for him to be comfortable there, and he had packed his possessions in readiness.

Most importantly, they had devoted an evening to Jane, who had been upset and bewildered by the entire situation. She had thought it was her fault that this was happening, that she had said something to someone that had made them think that she wasn't happy, or that Miss Phryne didn't take care of her properly. They had reassured her that she hadn't done anything wrong, and that answering 'the Welfare's' questions truthfully was the only way in which either of them would have expected her to behave.

She was grief-stricken at the idea of going back to her former life now, and they had promised her that if the very worst were still to happen, that they would fight tooth-and-nail for her, and that she wouldn't be forgotten. That there would be visits, from everyone, and clothes and books, and that her biological mother would still be cared for just as she was now. Most of all, that she was loved, and that Jack was very much looking forward to being her father-figure; thankfully, that anticipation had been mutual.

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

Before Jack knew it, he had found himself standing on the cold stone floor of Mrs Stanley's 'chosen' Church of England, with Phryne beside him, on a blustery Melbourne morning. The rain had thundered down so hard that the priest's words were drowned, and he had temporarily had to pause; not a promising start.

Aside from the priest, there were just four of them present in the cavernous building – Jack, Phryne, Mrs Stanley, and Mr Butler.

Dot and Jane were already at the Stanley residence, where they would remain until the next evening, just to give Jack a night and day to settle in; after all, it would be a bit of a sudden transition from bachelor, to husband with a daughter and two live-in staff. Hugh and Mac were each at their respective duties. If the others had been attending then he and Phryne might have asked Bert and Cec to come, but as they weren't they didn't; he hadn't been sure which would make them more uncomfortable – actually attending Miss Fisher's nuptials to a policeman, or coming up with an excuse not to attend.

Phryne's remaining family were on the other side of the world, and Jack had not even told his that this was happening. Firstly, because he didn't even know how to begin to explain. Secondly, because he wasn't sure how they would react – and whether they would try to stop him. Lastly, because he somehow felt that he'd rather have the whole event behind him first – just in case it all fell through.

So, he had stood only before the four of them, and for the second time in as many decades he had promised to devote his life to a woman; the difference was that Rosie had meant every word of her vows.

He had no idea what Phryne was thinking; of course she looked beautiful, but perhaps in the way that a cold, marble statue might be beautiful. Her navy suit and matching coat trimmed with white fur was doing nothing for her pale complexion in the grey light. She had uttered as few words as possible, and said her vows in a matter-of-fact manner; but when she had promised to obey him, he had given her fingers a quick squeeze, and had been rewarded with the hint of a smirk.

It had felt almost like some sort of pantomime when he had twisted that shiny band onto her finger, and the priest had pronounced them married.

She was his wife.

No, it definitely didn't seem real.

They had not discussed the ceremony at all, and he had been suddenly unsure of what to do when the kindly old priest had suggested that a kiss might be in order; but Phryne had quickly reached up and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, before throwing an arm around his neck and hugging him fiercely. Her smile was one of relief, more than happiness, but that was, after all, why they were here.

Back at the Stanley house they had endured a long lunch, and then he had been left alone in one of the parlours for a short while, at her aunt's insistence that Phryne accompany her into another part of the house. He had smirked to himself and wondered whether Mrs Stanley was attempting to give her niece some 'wedding night' advice. She was a very conservative woman, and it occurred to him that she may well be expecting this arrangement to operate as any normal marriage. After all, women had been marrying for reasons other than love for as long as there was history. He could not be sure, but he imagined that she herself had married to either maintain, or better, her own family's standing.

He had also wondered how much she really knew of her niece's 'interests', and what she actually believed of the allegations made against her. Phryne made no secret of her admiration of the opposite sex, but for most women admiration did not translate to sex outside the bounds of marriage. Mrs Stanley had not seen her niece for many years before she had returned to Melbourne, and, from what he could tell, Phryne was surprisingly discreet about her affairs where her aunt was concerned.

His wife (he wasn't sure how long it would take him to get used to that) had returned looking rather grim. On the car ride 'home' she hadn't ventured anything, so he hadn't asked.

In spite of the fact that she had sought his prior approval over everything that was in there, she had ventured into his bedroom and fussed over the contents, and asked him several times whether he was absolutely sure that there wasn't anything else that he needed… And he would tell her, wouldn't he, if there was anything else?... because he could have whatever he wanted. The furniture could all be replaced if he didn't like it… and the curtains… and if he didn't like the wallpaper she had chosen for him, she could have it changed on Monday…

In the end he had taken her gently by the shoulders, pressed a kiss into the crown of her head, and told her that everything was perfect. She had left, but looking less than convinced.

When he had come back downstairs they had sat in slightly uneasy silence in the parlour for some time, Jack with yesterday's 'Argus', and Phryne flicking through a French fashion magazine. She had looked drawn, and had eventually excused herself to take a bath.

After a fairly long interval, he had come up here, to the upstairs parlour, shedding his jacket and rolling his sleeves, trying to make himself more comfortable. He had given up, and had gone to stand at the window and berate himself for ever thinking that this was a good idea.

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

Jack was suddenly pulled from his reverie at the upstairs window by the sight of Mr Butler, lifting his umbrella to unlatch and pass through the gate, and walking off down the street, a valise in his hand… as if he were going somewhere… somewhere where he would be staying the night…

It confused him. Why would Mr Butler be leaving?

He felt her enter the room behind him, the inaudible swish of her robe leaving the slightest hint of perfume in the warmth radiating from the fire, before she came to stand behind him.

Her warm hand met the small of his back, and he tried to tamp down on the terrible feeling that he knew exactly why Mr Butler had departed.

He had left them, no doubt at her instruction, so that they would be utterly alone in the house.

Panic and horror flooded through him, and he squeezed his eyes closed.

She had bathed and perfumed herself, and emptied her house. She was his wife… he was her husband… and there were certain things to which he was now supposedly entitled. Not that he had ever expected that of this marriage of… what? It wasn't convenience… It hadn't been arranged for them… It was more like a business agreement… and it seemed that she was here to fulfil her end of the bargain.

Would she really offer herself to him? To be perfectly truthful with himself, he thought that she just might; she was not entirely without a sense of tradition, and she might feel obligated to proffer what was legally his to take. And, to her, sex was almost some sort of game, a pleasure that she indulged whenever the mood took her, with whomever she could find to be her willing partner.

Jack was not a willing partner.

No matter what his marital rights, he could *not* do that with her.

Not because he didn't want her, and not because he didn't love her.

But because he *did* love her.

"Jack…" her voice was small, unsure, and his certainty of the situation wavered. He swallowed hard, as if that action could draw away his terrible heartsickness.

"Mmm." He turned his head slightly to acknowledge her presence, and she stepped closer behind him, her other hand meeting his upper arm, her fingers searing him through his shirtsleeve. She waited.

This was ridiculous. He had brought this upon himself, and he ought not to be making her feel guilty. He reached his right hand up and put it over her left, where it rested, and felt the metal band, warm beneath his fingers.

He might never *be* with her, but that didn't mean that his life with her wouldn't be a good one.

Regardless of their sleeping arrangements, she was *his* now to protect and care for, whether or not she saw it that way. Undoubtedly, they were friends, and although things might be awkward at first, he was sure that they would each continue to enjoy the other's company.

Provided that all went well with the Welfare Department, he had a daughter now, and he had every intention of being the best father he could be to 'a wayward teenage girl'. That thought made him smile, really smile, for the first time today, and Phryne's fingers relaxed under his.

Phryne had made it very clear that as her husband he would not want for anything. In spite of his own suggestion that his life could remain rather separate to theirs, he had made a huge sacrifice in order to help them, and she was intent that he be afforded every privilege that he might have expected under normal circumstances; income, respect, and public acknowledgment of his place by her side.

It wouldn't matter how many times his suit was torn in a scuffle with a suspect, as there would always be many more to replace it. He could afford to catch a taxi whenever he felt like it, instead of trudging to the tram stop rain, hail, or egg-frying shine. He would come home to cooked dinners, and shined boots, and there would be no more nights sitting at the station, drinking a slow whisky over paperwork he'd already checked over five times, just because he didn't want to go home and be alone.

Sure, he would be obligated to attend parties, and charity functions, and dinners with some of Phryne's more Bohemian friends… and more time spent with Aunt Prudence (shudder); but for once he'd also be able to do things just for himself, or just because he wanted to. Travel. Send his nieces and nephews to university. Hell, he just might buy himself a motorcycle. He grinned, and finally looked down to see her watching him curiously, from beneath fat, black lashes.

His breath caught.

Was it the way she looked, or the way in which she was looking at him?

Aside from the dark lashes, she was free from makeup, and her freckled skin had a peachy glow against the silver of her long, embroidered robe. Of course he had seen her like this before, on late nights when he had come to discuss cases and had caught her already dressed for bed, but never like this. Never so close that he could feel her breath whisper against him.

She seemed soft and small, and although his grin was answered with a quirk to the corner of her mouth, it was accompanied by rapidly forming tears; when he saw them he couldn't help but remove his arm from under her hand, so that he could wrap it firmly around her. He was as sure as he could be that everything would be resolved now, that Jane would be free to stay with her 'guardian angel', and he couldn't bear to see Phryne still unhappy.

As he rubbed affectionately at her shoulder and spoke soothing words into her hair, her shaky fingers rubbed hastily at her eyes, and she composed herself enough to look up at him, her expression serious. She stepped away so that she could stand in front of him, and she took both of his hands in hers.

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

As she held Jack's hands, Phryne looked up at him with a serious expression.

"Jack… I need to talk to you… about something very important…"

He acknowledged her with the slightest of nods, and she went on, "I… I've gone about this all the wrong way… but there's something that I need to ask you… and no matter what your answer is, I need to know…" He nodded again, but wondered where she was taking this. "The absolute truth. No matter what." She looked to him for his assent, and he nodded again, but now he was wondering what on earth she wanted of him.

She looked down for a moment, before squeezing his fingers, and looking back up at him.

"Do you love me?"

Hah! That was easy. "Of course." He smiled at her affectionately, and gave her a look that said 'you shouldn't even have to ask'. She couldn't seem to help returning the smile, but she shook her head.

"No… I mean… are you *in love* with me?"

His heart thudded, and his fingers twitched in hers.

Her expression was unreadable.

The absolute truth. That was what she had said she wanted of him, but did she *really* want that?

No matter what.

He cleared his throat.

She waited.

He closed his eyes, and his head fell forward, as if in defeat.

"…Yes…"

He opened his eyes to find her fighting to smile, but tears were rapidly winning out, and with her fingers still grasping his, the first plump drops fell down her peach-hued cheeks.

He was in turmoil; why had she asked him, and what good would it do?

She took a couple of calming breaths, and jiggled his hands in hers, as she looked up at him, pleadingly.

"Jack… I've been so selfish… so foolish…"

"No… no you haven't… You've done what you had to do for Jane... I understand that… I came into this with my eyes open… I asked *you*, remember?"

She shook her head. "I know that… but I think I… I think that I've trapped you into doing what I wanted…"

What? He had no idea what she was talking about, and it showed on his face.

"I've let you believe that this has all been about Jane… I've let *myself* believe that this has all been about Jane… But that's not the truth… I've been so stupid… and I've hurt you… I know I have because *I'm* hurting!"

She let go of his hands and scrubbed at her face, as if that might help the words come out better. He wished they would; he really didn't understand what it was that she was trying to say to him.

"You're right… *you* came up with this plan… but your motives were entirely pure… 'Jack Robinson, who always does the right thing, the noble thing…'" she parodied herself. "But *me*? I'm the one who always finds a way… who *makes* a way… but I've let myself think that it was *the only* way… that I had no alternative than to marry you… because somewhere inside me... I knew… I *knew*… that it was a way to get what I wanted… without sacrificing my precious principles."

She gave herself a disgusted snort. "I didn't… *want* to get married… but you mustn't think that I don't want to be married *to you*…"

Now he was really confused, and she turned huge doe-eyes on him.

"Jack… I want to *be with you*… I want eat breakfast in bed together while we fight over the newspaper… I want to snuggle up to you when you drop exhausted into bed at two in the morning… I want to kiss you goodbye when you leave for work, and tell you that I love you... because I do…" His eyes widened, and his mouth opened, but she wasn't finished, "… and by that I mean… that I'm *in love* with you."

She paused for a moment, before lowering her lashes and affecting a husky tone. "Obviously those things aren't the *only* things that I want to do with you…"

Jack remained serious. Today was becoming more surreal by the moment; he had to be sure.

"Now you *want* to be my wife, because you're *in love* with me?"

"Yes." She reached out for his hands again. "If you'll have me…" She laughed nervously. "Although it's a little late for that, I know… And I'm *so* sorry… Today was so… Well, things could have been so different if I'd had this epiphany a little earlier… instead of… well… in the bath…" He tried not to laugh at that, as she cleared her throat. "For instance… there might have been a proper kiss in the church…"

"A *proper* kiss?" He looked at her teasingly. "I thought it was a *very* proper kiss… I'm sure Aunt P approved…"

She thumped his upper arm, good-naturedly, and rolled her eyes. "Well then, since it appears that you are my husband… perhaps you'd like to have a shot at a not-so-very-proper kiss…"

He pretended to think about it for a moment. His pulse was racing now, and he fleetingly wondered at this incredible turn of events, and whether he might just wake up at any moment and find he had been asleep at his desk, three-and-a-bit weeks ago, and this had all been a dream.

Phryne's upturned face was all too real, though, and her lashes fluttered closed as his thumb brushed across her cheek.

Their first 'proper' kiss was a gentle meeting, a slow press of their lips as they felt the other's breath on their cheeks, but things rapidly degenerated from there. Before he knew it, her hand was in his hair, her small body pressed to his, as their tongues duelled with a passion he had never known he was capable of, let alone felt from another.

*She* was the one who pulled away, and she looked at him a little guiltily. "I hate to say this, but would you mind…" Suddenly she was uncharacteristically shy, and tongue-tied, so he simply held her hand, and waited for her to get it out.

"They say that every woman dreams of her wedding day from the time she is small… Of course when I was a girl I used to imagine myself walking down the aisle, with flowers and a beautiful dress… But my wedding dreams stopped the day I joined the Ambulance Corps… and I never thought I'd have them again… but I had changed so much by then that I didn't miss them either… But… Well, I've managed to spoil the rest of my 'dream day', but there's still something…"

He looked at her expectantly, and a smile crept across her face. As she moved nervously in front of him, and her robe swished around her legs, he realised what it was that she wanted.

He swapped his left hand for his right, and he lifted hers and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. Her eyes sparkled as he spoke to her, "Mrs Fisher-Robinson… Would you do me the great honour of allowing me a dance?"

A grin split her face, but she continued the charade, on the slightest curtsey, "It would be my pleasure, Mr Robinson…"

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

Jack crooked his elbow to her, and they made towards the gramophone in the corner, but she was giggling like a schoolgirl before they had gone two steps, and it made his heart soar to see her so happy in contrast to her earlier demeanour… and apparently it was because of him.

She stopped and lifted her hem a little. "As we haven't danced before, I think it might be for the best if you were to remove your shoes!" She poked a foot out to reveal the pale satin slippers he had seen her wear before, somewhat reminiscent of ballet shoes. He agreed, and she left him untying his laces, with a request that he also prepare some music.

She returned holding two glasses, and lugging a bucket of ice surrounding a bottle of Champagne. She grinned at him lopsidedly. "I know that nothing is finalised yet, and it could still take a turn for the worse… but just for tonight, let's try to forget about Jane, and Welfare… and everyone and everything else… and let's just enjoy what remains of *our* wedding day…"

He popped the cork with great aplomb, and her mischievous face told him exactly what image that action brought to her mind; he blushed.

They drank, and danced, drank, and danced again, and her eyes remained glued to his.

They pulled the settee back and leaned their backs against it, on the thick rug in front of the fire, legs outstretched together. He re-filled their glasses.

She took off her slippers, and made him take off his socks, and they made fun of each other's wriggling toes. It was funny, he had seen her in stockinged feet many times before, but never actually barefoot; he thought her tiny feet were perfect. He'd never had much reason to consider his own long feet, but she declared them rather nice, for men's feet, and he felt ridiculously well-pleased at that.

They clinked glasses, and each toast became sillier as time wore on, and each accompanying kiss more lingering.

She felt rather warm, and tossed the silver robe onto the settee behind her. He decided that he was feeling very warm indeed.

Luckily she felt she could help him with that, and straddled his legs to remove his tie, and then his waistcoat. He wasn't sure that it had made the situation any better, but he certainly *felt* better.

She put a hand up to brush away that pesky lock of his hair, the one that escaped its well-oiled neighbours to dangle into his eyes at any opportunity – the one he now knew she thought was adorable. No-one had ever used that word in connection with him before. His tongue met the pulse at her wrist, and her knees twitched where they pressed into his thighs.

As her fingers crept under the hem of his singlet, he wondered how his shirt had come to be dangling from the corner of the sideboard. He stopped wondering as his own fingers confirmed his suspicion – she really wasn't wearing a thread of underwear beneath her silken nightdress.

Christ she was beautiful. She was pulling him down to lay with her, skin-to-skin, but he resisted for a moment, just wanting to drink her in. She must have heard it a thousand times, but she had never heard it from him, and she asked him to tell her again.

He thought he just might die at the feeling of being joined with her; if he did, it'd be a hell of a way to go.

Her breath was hot at his throat, her lips and tongue searing where they met his skin. He watched her dark splash of hair move on the rug, timed to his own movements, and tasted the sweat that sparkled in the flickering light cast by the fire. He felt her fingernails press into his flesh, and inhaled the glorious scent of her as she cried his name against his jaw, and the white heat overtook him.

The fire would have to be stoked soon enough, but for the time being they lay with her robe spread over their lower halves, his arms full of her freckled, scented curves, as his haze of lust cleared, and gave way to his surprise.

It really was almost unbelievable. Their marriage consummated in the age old way, and yet so far beyond the imaginings of most people on their wedding night. Let's face it, even after sixteen years of marriage to Rosie, what had just happened between himself and Phryne had been beyond his own imaginings. On top of the fact that, only hours before, he had not been expecting it to be consummated at all. Ever.

He had thought it might be awkward to explain this union to his family when it had been nothing more than an arrangement. How on earth was he going to explain it now? To account for the fact that in the several weeks since he had last seen his parents and siblings he had married the woman with whom he was desperately in love?... A woman that they had never met… A woman that he had rarely even spoken of in their presence, and certainly not for some time, and never in connection with anything other than a case… An exquisite, elegant little woman who was vivacious and spirited… bold and fierce… wealthy… And they had married in church, no less… It would certainly take some telling, and he could only imagine what their reactions might be.

Although, as Phryne had once pointed out, 'awkward was dying naked in the shower… and he had her on his team'. That thought made him chuckle, and the movement caused her to lift her head and enquire as to whether he was planning on sharing, with his wife, exactly what was so funny?

She was practically purring at him, much like a cat who had not only got the cream, but also a tasty, fat mouse, and to be perfectly honest, he was feeling pretty damned good himself. She moved to lie facing him, and, between kisses, he attempted to enlighten her. He gave up entirely when her fingers met a part of his anatomy that was becoming more interested in her attentions by the second – much to Jack's astonishment.

When they finally surfaced into the here and now, they decided that a move to Phryne's bed might be a better option than attempting to revive the parlour fire. He swept his wife, his salvaged clothing, and the bundle of her silver robe into his arms, and they departed, leaving a disarrayed room behind them. She looked at him adoringly as he pronounced that, as neither of them were dressed for the front door, the threshold of her room would have to do as far as further 'wedding day dreams' were concerned.

tbc


	7. Chapter 7

They spent the night drifting between sleep, and exploring each other, both physically and emotionally. For Jack, it was an entirely new experience of intimacy; both the talk and the sex at times intense, and at others light-hearted, and playful... When the head of froth on Phryne's latest Champagne had overflowed, she had left him in no doubt at all as to how it might best be removed, and he had enjoyed every moment as he had followed its path down between her breasts, to the pool in her navel.

In the morning, when his stomach had grumbled loudly enough to have them both laughing heartily, she had left him to his own devices for a while, with the intention of procuring some breakfast, and giving him the chance to make use of her bathroom.

When she had returned some time later, and lifted the lids on the loaded tray, he was amazed at the piles of bacon, eggs and toast; and more than a little suspicious.

"*You* made this?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Yesssss…"

He narrowed his. "Are you sure that you haven't been hiding Mr Butler and Dot in the cellar? Because this looks…" The expression on his face and another grumble from his stomach told her exactly what the sight and smell were doing to him.

She huffed in faux annoyance. "I *am* capable of cooking breakfast…" She snatched a piece of toast from his fingers and bit into it. "Remember that there was a time when ending up as the wife of a wharfie was a fair prospect for me… Of course my mother did her best to teach me to cook… and school… I can even manage a kedgeree, but we didn't appear to have any leftover rice this morning…"

He gave her a bemused nod, then hummed his approval of the scrambled eggs, which, he had to admit, were excellent. "So… what else can you cook?"

She counted things off on her fingers, between chews of bacon. "Stew… bangers and mash… roast dinner… fish… pie… although not off the top of my head, I couldn't make pastry without following a recipe – that amount of butter was not within our means when I was learning… Same goes for cakes and biscuits – recipe only… and I'm not saying that they'd be good… but hopefully edible…"

This was all quite a revelation to him, and he honestly didn't know why. He had just assumed that she was without domestic skill, but *of course* there must have been times when she had had to help her mother, or fend for herself.

She swallowed a mouthful of eggs, and laughed. "You should see what I learned to do during the war, with a tin of bully beef!"

He gave her a sideways look. "Let me guess… Bully Beef Surprise?"

They laughed together, and spent the remainder of breakfast, and some time after, discussing the deprivation of wartime, something that they could both look back on now with a little humour. The rations, the clothes… the hygiene arrangements. What foods they had miserably *dreamed* about, and the first things they had eaten when rations were no longer an issue. Jack had had these kind of discussions before with his fellows, but it seemed so different talking it over with her.

She shared an anecdote about one of the French doctors who was renowned for being so dedicated to his work that he was utterly oblivious to the beautiful young women around him, in spite of the fact that he was known to have had a mistress before the war.

She had been enjoying a long-awaited soak in a couple of inches of murky, luke-warm water, when said doctor's head had appeared over the top of the so-called 'privacy' screen. He had said something along the lines of 'Oh, there you are Nurse Fisher', and then proceeded to launch straight into his assessment of a patient that she had brought in earlier by ambulance. He had waffled on for several minutes, before suddenly seeming to realise that she was, in fact, trying to take a bath, and leaving her with an unembarrassed 'Well then, I'll leave you to it…' His departure had elicited an eruption of laughter from the surrounding area, and Phryne had been left feeling slightly miffed that apparently her naked body had been about as interesting to him as his fountain pen.

Jack had responded in kind, with a story of a most unfortunate visit to a communal long-drop. It had been long in use by then, and in the wet, wintery conditions the wooden structure had reached a stage where it finally gave up. The end result was that that he and several of his companions had ended up stuck, arses and bollocks buried in the shit of hundreds of their fellows, and had had to be hauled out by their boots.

It wasn't a story that he had shared before, but if a man couldn't tell something like that to his wife who could he tell? Having said that, Rosie would have been disgusted by such a story; but Phryne could not contain her laughter, and was rolling around in the bedding, gasping for breath, with tears in her eyes.

He had never openly laughed over his time in the trenches, and it felt good, looking back on it with her, that not everything about his experience was a terrible blot on his soul.

In time she cleared away their breakfast things and took them back downstairs (after pointing out, though, that her domesticity did not extend to washing dishes). When she returned she made her way around to what, apparently, was now 'his side' of the bed, where he was half-lying, half-sitting against his pillows. She pulled the bedding aside to climb onto his lap, the silver robe parting to expose her creamy thighs.

Again, the almost-purr. "My turn…"

He had been momentarily confused; her turn to do what?

Oh. Her intention became clearer when she shucked off the robe and wriggled forward, winding her arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. It wasn't as if he was oblivious to such a position; in fact, as a young Constable, he and his Sergeant had witnessed it firsthand when they had burst in on a suspect – although the lady in that scene had been as fully clothed as Phryne was not, and she had certainly been paid for her services. So, yes, he was aware of the possibility; it had just never happened to him.

'Her turn' was so much more than that sordid remembrance.

The fluid movement of her body, the ripple of her abdomen, and the swaying of her pert breasts as she leaned slightly over him.

The curve of her spine under his fingers when her arms curled around his neck, those rose-tipped breasts brushing against his heated skin.

The sheen of her stickiness on his lower belly, the damp that was all too apparent where they joined; the scent of that need.

The power that he felt in her rounded hips, where she placed his hands as her breath became an open-mouthed pant.

The gentle scrape of her fingers down his chest, as she leaned away, her eyes dark and locked with his.

The less gentle squeeze of her fingers around his wrists as her head tipped back and she cried her ecstasy.

He was gone the moment she was, and looking back on it, he was surprised that he had lasted that long. Perhaps it was simply that it was so entirely different again from his experience of being with her so far, that his brain had been overloaded, and had left him to be swept along in her wake.

He was sure that she knew how inexperienced he was in these matters, compared to her, but he told her anyway that that had been something that he had never done before – or rather, that he had never had done to him before – but he had certainly enjoyed it. He wasn't sure how it was possible, but her smile was both affectionate and seductive as she told him that they had barely scratched the surface of things that they would enjoy doing together.

tbc


	8. Chapter 8

They spent a languorous couple of hours tangled in each other, and the bedding, as they talked and laughed about absolutely nothing of importance. Eventually, and regretfully, she suggested that they ought to think about getting up, as Mr Butler would be home mid-afternoon, and the girls by dinnertime.

He found it a little strange standing in the shower, scrubbing himself with soap while she splashed in the enormous green bathtub a few feet away. Of course he washed himself in the presence of other men all the time – at the station, after football and cricket, and all during his army service – but he had only been a boy the last time someone female had been present during his ablutions. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it, but he supposed he could get used to it; and helping Phryne out of the tub and into a huge, fluffy towel was definitely something that he would be happy to do at any time.

By the time that he had located and assumed his own underwear and trousers she was already in her underwear and stockings and applying her makeup (no lipstick though, as she pointed out that she had plenty more kisses planned for him before the others arrived home). He found himself a little disappointed that he had missed watching her, then gave himself an internal eye-roll; it wasn't like he wasn't going to get another opportunity!

He *did* sit on the side of the bed and watch her buckle her shoes, and put on a pretty afternoon dress. After she had hooked complementary earrings in place, and slid a bracelet onto her wrist, she came and stood before him, and he realised that he had halted at some stage before buttoning his shirt.

She kissed him between each button, leaving the top two undone, and then knelt down to help him into his shoes, and tie them, before standing again and pulling him up with her. She tucked his shirt in as if he were a boy, smoothed his front, and pulled his braces into place; and he marvelled at the fact that he was here, with her, and that she was doing these things for him.

His tie and waistcoat she picked up, and she gave him an affectionate look that said 'Jack, really?' before taking his hand and pulling him into the bedroom that she had had made up for him, before… well, before she had realised that he wouldn't be needing it.

She rifled through his drawers and produced the same woollen vest that he had worn when he had been 'Archibald Jones of the dulcet tones'. He raised an eyebrow at her and she confessed that she really rather liked it on him. After she had tugged it firmly down around him, she made to roll up his shirtsleeves, and he began to protest, but she cut him off.

"Jack… Were you planning on going out anywhere today?"

"No…"

"Mmm. Are you cold?"

"No…"

"I didn't think so…" She gave him a slightly serious look, and squeezed his hand. "This is your *home* now… And a man is perfectly entitled to walk around in his own home, in a vest, *with* rolled sleeves and *without* a tie…"

He tilted his head sideways in an 'I suppose so' sort of acknowledgement, and she pressed up on her toes to kiss him gently. "I know that it's going to take a little getting used to… but *you* are now the master of this house…" her eyes twinkled, "and although it's probably fair to say that you're going to have to suffer through *joint* authority..." she leaned in and whispered, conspiratorially, "you can do whatever you like within these walls!"

He pondered that as he followed her down the stairs. He *was* going to have to get used to the fact that he was no longer a guest here, but she was already making him feel at ease, and it did feel rather nice.

They were chatting in the kitchen, each wielding a knife (Phryne's covered with butter, Jack's poised above the cold lamb he was carving), when they were both startled by a rap on the glass and the handle turning in the kitchen door – Mac. She put her hands up in surrender as she passed over the threshold, "I'm unarmed!" and there were chuckles all around.

"Well…" she sipped tea, and eyed the ring on Phryne's finger, "isn't this a picture of matrimonial harmony?... I came by to see that everything had worked out…"

Phryne grinned. "As you see, although there was a bit of stormy weather, I wasn't actually struck down by lightning in church…

Her friend grinned back at her.

"…And, things have turned out… exceptionally well…" Phryne's tone left Mac in no doubt of what she was referring to, and Jack tried to fight the blush that was spreading rapidly out towards his ears.

"Is that so?" Mac gave him a salacious grin "Well done, Inspector…"

Jack gave up the fight.

"Mac," Phryne adopted a mock stern expression and waved the butter knife at her friend, "don't tease my husband… Also," she said with a mouth full of lamb that she had just stolen from Jack's board, "as *you* are one of my dearest friends, and *he* is my dearest husband… you probably ought to call him Jack…" She tilted her head towards him, "If that is alright with you, of course…"

He had no objection, and thus it was agreed that from now 'Inspector' and 'Doctor' would be replaced by 'Jack' and 'Mac'. He did have one thing to say about her comment, though. "If I'm your *dearest* husband… where are you keeping the others?"

She had thrown a tea-towel at him, and that had set the tone for the rest of the afternoon; much to the bemusement of Mr Butler, who walked in upon a scene he had never envisaged – his mistress and new master engaging in some sort of war involving kitchen linens, whilst Doctor MacMillan hoed into tea and a pile of sandwiches that Mrs Fisher-Robinson had apparently made herself.

Wonders never ceased; but he was very pleased indeed to see the Mr and Mrs in such spirits after yesterday's gloom. His suspicions that things had been 'resolved' between them were confirmed by the state of the bedrooms; one immaculate, and presumably unslept in, the other looking like a willy-willy had passed through it, pillows and covers strewn, a pile of the Inspector's clothing and effects thrown on the floor. Further confirmed when he stepped into the upstairs parlour – if the empty Champagne bottle and rearranged furniture hadn't told the story, it certainly would have been betrayed when, upon bending to recover what appeared to be a ribbon wrapped around a leg of the settee, he found himself holding a satin nightgown.

He grinned to himself. With those two in harmony, he'd like to see 'the Welfare' try and take Jane from them, just for the sport of it.

Yes, things were certainly looking up in the Fisher household…

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love to hear your thoughts so please don't hesitate to comment or PM me :)   
> And to my fellow Aussies - Happy Australia Day!


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